


Clarity

by Things_Unspoken



Category: Fallout 3
Genre: Angst, Death, F/M, Other, Suicide, Suicide Notes, This is sadder than I had intended for it to be
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-09
Updated: 2016-03-20
Packaged: 2018-05-25 16:56:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6203392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Things_Unspoken/pseuds/Things_Unspoken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If he had just swallowed the fear and gotten over himself, they wouldn't be in this situation.</p><p>In which Butch DeLoria remembers all the could have beens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Farewell

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> A warning, if you didn't read the tags: This does include mentions of suicide, rather graphically. There's heaps of angst, too. But it's worth the read, I promise.

Butch,  
I didn’t expect to find myself here, lying on the bathroom floor, waiting for death to take me as its own. And yet that’s what I’m doing. I can’t help but stare at the bottle of acetaminophen in my left hand. It’s empty, Butch. It’s empty, and now I’m scared.  
I wish I hadn’t taken them, now. I should have just come to you. I should have just told you everything I couldn’t bring myself to say. But I didn’t, and now I’m paying the consequences.  
I’m sorry, but I think that there’s never been a better time than now. So here it goes. I love you, Butch DeLoria. I love you so damn much that it hurts. You’re my sun, and my moon. You’re the air that I breathe. I love how you always smell like Atomic Red bubble gum. I love that you spend more time doing your hair in the morning than me. I love your pompous attitude and your stupid insults.  
I love it when you call me Nosebleed. I love your haughty laugh that shakes your whole body. I love the way your baby blue eyes light up when you shout at the top of your lungs for the umpteenth time that ‘Tunnel Snakes rule!’  
And now I’ll never get to see any of those things ever again. Just like that, with a slide of hand and the ingestion of fifty some pills, life is taken away.  
And so, I say goodbye to you. Not with sadness in my heart or a tear in my eye, but rather I sit in my own vomit. My own shit. Because suicide isn’t beautiful, Butch. I can trust you to make sure nobody tries to paint it as such. I’m not going quietly into that goodnight. I’m mumbling some shit about talking walls.  
Yet somehow, I’m coherent enough to write this.  
Funny, isn’t it? How love works in the weirdest of ways.  
Remember me, tough guy. Don’t forget me. I hope you think of me when you look in the mirror. I hope that I’m in the steam coming off your morning rations. I hope I’m there to watch over you when things get unsteady between you and your mother.  
And I will be, too. I’ll always be here, Butch.  
With my whole heart, I’m yours.  
Summer.


	2. Unwanted Gift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Butch receives a gift he wishes he could return, and he's completely confused as to why he's holding it in his hands.

ONE  
The Overseer had tried to pass it off as a misunderstanding. He’d said that Summer had died of natural causes, and he gave the note to her father in secret, informing him that if anyone found out it was a suicide, he’d be dead too.  
This rule went with one exception; Butch DeLoria was to read the note. He was to read it, and he was to keep it. It was the least The Overseer could do.  
And that’s how James found himself timidly knocking on the door of the DeLoria home, heart heavy in his chest, and a burning in the hand that held the crisp sheet of white paper. He’d been careful not to wrinkle it, remembering how Summer always hated it when paper lost its perfection. She’d throw away a perfectly good sheet if it had so much as a corner ripped off.  
He’d bought so many reams of the stuff for her.  
“Hello?” he was greeted by an opening door, and the flushed face of Butch’s mother. She was drunk, he could smell it on her.  
He didn’t want to start things with her, so he decided the best approach would be to give the note to Butch directly.  
“I need to speak with your son.” James spoke simply, trying so hard not to lose it. Not to drop that front he’d been putting on for the last week.  
She turned wordlessly, trudging off to some unknown part of the house. He overheard a faint call of ‘Butchie.’ And the sound of heavy, boot clad feet.  
He was standing before James, and suddenly, the doctor was at a loss for words. Every speech he’d rehearsed went clear out of his brain, and he found himself stammering endlessly.  
“Summer- she- I’m sure you’ve heard.”  
Butch stared at James, unsure of what to say himself. Did he crawl his way over here looking for sympathy? Because he wasn’t going to get it, not from him. Don’t get him wrong, Butch felt a little heavier with her loss, but he wasn’t good with the whole comfort thing.  
“It wasn’t- It’s not what The Overseer says.”  
Butch quirked an eyebrow, swallowing before speaking a carefully thought out sentence. “I don’t think I understand what you’re trying to say.”  
“It was a suicide, Butch.” James was amazed at the clarity in these words. He was borderline breakdown.  
Butch took a few steps back, shaking his head. That wasn’t possible. Summer wasn’t like that. She was okay in the head, and was always so fucking perky. That wasn’t her. This wasn’t her.  
“No.” he asserted. “No, that’s not Summer. That’s not fucking Summer.”  
“Butch,” James sighed. “I thought the same thing. She- She wanted you to have this, I think.”  
Butch eyed James quizzically before taking the piece of paper. He glanced down, and inhaled sharply.  
“It’s her note. Why is her note addressed to me?”  
“Read it. Read it and everything will make sense.”  
Butch nodded, and turned to retreat, but James gently grabbed his arm before he walked away.  
“Hey, before you read it, I want you to know that I don’t blame you.”  
Butch regarded these words, and before he could ask what he meant, James was gone.


	3. Chapter 3

TWO  
The note stared him in the eyes. He didn’t want to read it, and yet at the same time, he did. Why did Nosebleed write her final words to him of all people? You would think she’d address it to her father, or somethin’, but no. His name was very clearly written in neat shorthand at the top of the page.  
Looking down at the first paragraph, he shook a little. He was reading her goodbye. It didn’t feel right. And the way she described how she was laying – the same way her father inevitably found her body – it made him sick.  
And then the second. What hadn’t she said?  
When he finished reading, he looked up and stared blankly at the wall. It all sunk into his skin, and cut through to muscle. Seeped from the muscles deep into his bones. The words became a part of him. And numbly, he whispered to himself,  
“She loved me.”  
It was all there, written clearly, complete with her signature in a sloppy cursive that had him tearing up. But Butch didn’t cry. It hurt too much to cry. Because it was then that he admitted to himself that he loved her too.  
He loved her orange hair that tumbled down her shoulders just right. He loved the giggles she gave when Amata said something funny. He loved her mismatched sense of style.  
He loved breathing the same air as her, touching the same surfaces. She was completely and utterly amazing, and all the times he wanted to tell her, all the times that the words got stuck- All those times came flashing back. If he had just parted his lips and spoke, she’d still be breathing right now. She’d be safely tucked in his arms, her breath ghosting across his neck, and vice versa.  
A matter of three words could have prevented disaster.  
At this thought, his resolve broke. The warm droplets carved their trails into his tanned cheeks, glistening in the artificial vault light. Butch DeLoria never cried, except for when he did. Despite the calloused heart barely thumping in his chest, he was human, and it was only human to get upset and lose it.  
He didn’t know how long he stayed there, head bowed at the kitchen table. But when he finally opened his eyes, kids were making their way to Mister Brotch’s room.  
As though nothing had happened, he wiped his eyes, set aside the note, and headed out for the day.


End file.
